Highway 66
by Genji
Summary: A deathfic, where Shinigami triumphs once again. A bit of sap, shounen-ai,and told from Duo's POV.


Title: Highway 66 br  
Part: 1/1 br  
Date: November 25, 2000 br  
Author: Genji (genji_15@excite.com) br  
Status: Final br  
Archive: LMK first. It's a simple request, no?br  
Category: ficletbr  
Rating: PGbr  
Pairings: 2 + 1 (implied)br  
Warnings: shounen-ai, deathficbr  
Feedback: You know the answer br  
Disclaimer: I wrote the following story, but I don't own the person who's talking, nor the person who died. br  
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I died tonight. Somewhere between the railroad tracks and home, I ceased to live. The doctors will tell you I'm still alive. But don't listen to them- they lie. They cite the facts that I still have breath in my body, I still have blood surging through me; it's not spilled out there on Highway 66, staining the asphalt.br  
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The asphalt there will never be the same again, once it's been stained with blood. Human blood. His blood.br  
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They say I'm lucky, but I'm really not. A shadow of death tails me. I can't shake it. It kills all those I've loved. I knew his time here was short. You could see it in his eyes. He knew it too. Faced it every day. Embraced it. Dared it to kill him each and every moment, but I find it hard to believe he was thinking about death the moment it happened. I doubt he thought it would end this way, with his life fluid flowing onto the road, the gray matter spilled out of his dense skull. He was always so obstinate, so thick headed. One would think that would protect the precious mass housed behind piercing eyes.br  
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I didn't even get to say goodbye. On minute he was there, the next- nothing.br  
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It happened so fast. He was driving, a little too fast, but no one was on the road, no one except for a semi-trailer coming in the opposite direction with a burnt out left headlight. We thought that that cyclops had given us a wide berth. A mistake, which he paid for with his life. We collided, our two vehicles. The semi-trailer continued on, no damage done to its massive bulk. The driver had a schedule to live up to. br  
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I remember the sound of shattering glass, for he had catapulted through the windshield. I was unable to move as bright diamonds cascaded down, tearing my naked skin and shirt. The pain was beyond description, as my legroom disappeared, and I was locked in place, caught between the engine and the seat. David and Goliath. This time Goliath won.br  
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I first realized he was gone when I called to him, wondering if he were ok. But no response came. I called again, blinded by the pain, unable and unwilling to see the empty seat beside me, where just a few minutes ago he had sat, growling at me. He did not answer- the dead don't talk. I cried and screamed his name, ignoring the numbness creeping up my legs.br  
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A passing motorist saw our mangled car, saw the crimson rive in the road. The semi-trailer had not reported the accident. We were mere flies to be squashed.br  
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The Good Samaritan called EMS; though now I wish she had let me die there, so I could chase his soul up to heaven, up to where there would be no more pain. EMS came, of course, with their flashing lights and loud sirens, unbecoming of a silent boy's deathbed. He couldn't even die in peace! With axes and saws I was pulled out of the car, released like a sardine from its can. They freed me from one prison only to chain me to another; they tied me down onto a stretcher and whisked me away. It was then that I saw his fate. A white cloth covered a mound surrounded by an ocean of scarlet. The edges of this pristine sheet were dyed crimson from his sacrificial blood. He had given so much and asked for so little. Now he was dead, and society would forever be indebted to the boy who died in the road like a fleeing animal in the night. Died before he could truly live. Before he could have his first kiss, his first dance, his first love. I always thought he at least had feelings somewhere down there, hidden behind his stoic façade. Feelings for me, I had hoped, but now I'll never know. Unrequited love is all I'm left with. I'll never be able to see him again, never tell him that I never meant to be more than a friend, but it just happened, never be able to say, "I love you," and duck to avoid his flying fist. Never, ever, ever.br  
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He'll be cremated, as is tradition now days. Too many have died to bury them all. There will be no stone marker for me to visit, to talk to. No one will remember after we are all gone, we are simply shadows passing over this land. Is this supposed to be closure? I really don't feel it.br  
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I died out there on Highway 66, though my body refuses to recognize it. I tell the doctors to let this shell go, but they just laugh and say something about survivor's guilt. I don't feel guilty; I just want to leave this cold place.br  
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Don't come to visit me, because I exist no longer.br  
  



End file.
